


To Record and Remember

by joisbishmyoga



Category: Meitantei Conan | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: AU, Aladdin eat your heart out, Arabian Nights - Freeform, I don't actually know where I'm going with this, Kaito is not a role model, M/M, angels and stuff, islamic pastiche, the names don't fit the setting at all, very confused M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joisbishmyoga/pseuds/joisbishmyoga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conan Edogawa lives under a curse.  Two of them, in his opinion: the scent of his official curse attracts djinni like flies.  Lucky for him, the first djinn to come sniffing around is a lunatic calling himself an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Record and Remember

Conan stood warily next to a pillar in the caliph's great hall, eyes passing over the crowd with a sharp gaze. Most of the celebrants were entranced by the current troupe of dancing girls, twisting like candle flames in the center of the tiled floor. The rest... well, weren't celebrants, but burly guards wielding heavy, blunted scimitars.

The caliph didn't want anyone to accidentally kill the brazen thief who'd threatened his Star of Ifrit. Not before he could hold a very public mutilation.

Conan shuddered. All told, he really did prefer hunting murderers. A simple execution was so much better than the 'lesser' punishments.

The dancing girls finished, and fled the room in a swirl of red gauze and cinnamon scent. The Star remained on the caliph's turban, red and glittering and completely unstolen, so Conan turned back to watching the crowd. And in came the next round of dancers, lithe beauties in fluttering white.

... wait, exactly how many dancers were there supposed to be?

_Boom._

Chaos tore the party apart. Sorcerous colored smokes, screaming girls, illusions darting about and masking men with each others' faces, and several flying desserts, all danced to the music of a maniacal, eerie laugh that echoed from every wall. Conan ducked, thanking his cursed height for once, and slipped out one of the arched windows.

Onto the ledge, then down a tree, into the garden, and Conan ran for the other wing of the house, the best exit with all the uproar in the great hall. And halfway there, he came face-to-face with an angel.

No. A man, the ruffled dancing skirt still settling around his shoulders, a gleaming scimitar smile and a disheveled turban hiding half his face. It had to be a man. The caliph put criminals on horrific display, but kept piously to the exact letter of Allah's law. It wouldn't be an angel.

Though he did move like one, slamming Conan into the hard stone of the garden's pavilion before Conan could react. One firm, gloved hand covered Conan's mouth; the rest of the not-an-angel's body held him pinned off the ground.

"Well... look what I found," the thief purred.

Conan kicked him, foot glancing off the man's knee, getting a hiss and a full-body jerk that simultaneously almost dropped Conan and made the hand clamp painfully on his jaw for a second.

"Ooh. Feisty." The thief's grin tilted, bright and smug. "Tell me, did you slip away from your minders on accident... or were you chasing me? One nod for accident, two for chasing," he added, the manic laugh lilting under his words. "I'm not fool enough to give you a chance to scream."

Damn. Carefully, Conan nodded once, twice.

The man shivered against him. "I _do_ love cleverness," he murmured, breath warm and mint-scented against Conan's cheek. "It's a shame I can't take you with me."

Take with... _What?!_

_Pssh._

The thief's glove suddenly smelled of something cloyingly, dizzyingly sweet....

... Conan woke to the sound of shouting, and heavy hands yanking him up from the pavilion floor. Something got snatched from his open hand in a rustle of expensive paper, and suddenly the pavilion went dangerously still.

" _My righteous and most pious caliph_ ," Nakamori, the chief guard, read aloud. " _I thank you for a most delightful party. I would have left the Star with this brilliant little hunter, but I would be most dismayed to witness him being falsely accused of theft. Signed..._ " Nakamori's face went dead white. " _Ki... Kiraman Katibin._ "

Conan felt his knees go out from under him, even as every person in earshot crumpled with him, the others mumbling a cacophony of prayers.

_Praise be to Allah, a true angel_ , Conan thought. _Or a true blasphemer_.

More likely the blasphemer.

Conan remembered a bright blade of a smile, and wondered.

 

-0-0-0

 

"So." Heavy, white-gloved hands landed on Conan's wrists, pinning him to his bed, and a warm weight settled over his back. " _This_ is where you've been hiding."

'This' was a small garret room in the royal observatory, and was completely inaccessible except by a thin ledge running the length of the outer wall. Conan got cats in through the lattice window at all hours... and apparently, now, he got blasphemous thieves.

"Get off me, stupid thief," Conan growled into his pillow.

"Thief?" The man's weight shifted forward, fabric tickling against Conan's ear. "Aw... and here I thought I'd signed my name."

Like anyone would believe that. "You aren't an angel," Conan muttered. "For one thing, kiraman katibin come in pairs, dumbass."

"So they do. One little angel, recording aaaaaall the good deeds of a man..." The thief's voice lowered, breath warm as he leaned in. "And one recording all the bad deeds." Conan could feel the press of flesh against his cheek, a smile brightening the man's lilting words. "Pretty little wisps of divinity, yes? With no more ability to disobey Allah's will than man has ability to breathe water."

There was something extremely suspicious about the thief's tone. "Exactly," Conan said, slow and careful. "Where are you going with this?"

A chuckle huffed air against Conan's jaw. "I wonder, pretty one." Conan went stiff with outrage -- _pretty one?!_ \-- then even more so at the thief's next words. "Could you ignore someone's bad deed?" _Not yours,_ Conan thought, incensed. _Not anybody's!_ "Just walk away from the dead, from the bereaved and violated?"

_Never!_

Waitaminute. Angels recording deeds, inability to disobey that, pretty, angels coming in pairs... Conan shoved, and managed to get his face out of the pillow long enough to shout, " _I'm not an angel either, you complete lunatic!_ "

The thief flipped him over, one hand clapping over Conan's mouth. His body pressed Conan's deep into the bedding, and he waited. Conan strained to hear, hoping his shout had wakened someone, but after several minutes of perfect silence, the thief slowly relaxed. "No," he murmured, his one visible eye glinting in the moonlight, "I suppose you're no more an angel than I am." He pressed a quick kiss to Conan's cheek and grinned. "Gotta go, then. Bad deeds to do."

His weight vanished in a swirl of concealing fabric. Conan leapt up, shoving the latticed window open, but the thief was gone.

 

-0-0-0

 

The caravan had replenished their water and gathered fire tinder in the oasis during the last hour of the setting sun, one skilled lookout keeping eyes on the golden sky. Conan spent the time helping set up camp, pouring anti-scorpion oil around the sleeping mats and camels. A light meal of dates and travel bread, then the maghrib prayer session as the sky to the east deepened to black, and Conan slipped away before the last prayer of the day could be called.

It really wasn't proper -- it wasn't as if a bath was a very legitimate excuse to delay, especially not when the water could be unclean, and sand was acceptable for ritual cleansing -- but Conan could not stand to smell of camel and sweat another minute. Not when there was water so close.

Although, Conan thought, as he hurried down into the valley, it really could be a little closer. The caravan didn't _have_ to camp out of sight of the oasis-- they were all men of Allah, laden with protective charms and holy Korans; they had nothing to fear from a rumored haunting.

He slowed as he reached the water's edge. Nothing to fear from hauntings, no; wild dogs, on the other hand... yes. There was no movement along the banks of the jagged little pond, no gleam of eyes, no whuffing breath of a predator. No one had reported anything amiss earlier, supernatural or otherwise. It was probably safe to go in, and Conan didn't have all night. He could feel the temperature dropping already, cool and pleasant against his face.

Conan's heavy robes puddled around his ankles, and now the air was cool against his skin. He stepped out of the pile of clothing, then bent, setting his prayer cap carefully on top. He kept the tasseled blue amulet everyone in the caravan was wearing, though. The water wouldn't damage it.

The water was still warm from the heat of the day. The moonlight had turned it milky, silt swirling in thin reflective bands as Conan swished his hands through the water and splashed great handfuls up over his arms and shoulders, rinsing himself off. He couldn't dunk his head, not if he wanted to return to the camp without people discovering he'd been here, but he wiped dripping hands over his face, scrubbing up against his scalp and across the back of his neck where it was starting to prickle...

... dammit. "Okay," Conan called out, crossing his arms. "Now you're just stalking me."

Behind him, the trees rustled despite the lack of wind. "Oh?" came the thief's too-familiar, always-amused voice. "What makes you say that?"

"The fact that we're three days away from any town," Conan replied, turning to face the man leaning against a date palm on the shore. The not-an-angel, the blasphemer, was in nothing but short, white sirwal pants, loosely gathered at the knee and not-quite-high-enough at the waist. Conan could just barely see the shadowy dent of Katibin's navel peeking over the drawstring waist.

It was, sadly, more than Conan had at the moment. Thank Allah for opaque water, preserving his own modesty even if Conan himself didn't feel the proper alarm about either of them being so exposed. Which really should worry him, but... well, Katibin was just a silly thief, not a threat. Even if he wasn't paying enough attention to his slipping waistband.

That messily-turbaned head tilted, cloth swaying over his eye. "Are we?" Katibin asked. "I hadn't noticed."

"Sure you didn't. Fifty miles of desert just somehow magically didn't exist for you."

"Something like that."

Conan rolled his eyes. "You weren't with the caravan. How _did_ you get here?"

Katibin tipped his turban back, one narrowed eye shining blue in the moonlight. "Now you're just being obtuse."

"Fine, then." Maybe delusional went with blasphemous. " _Why_ are you here?"

The stare went slightly incredulous. Then Katibin shoved up off the tree, striding into the spring with barely a ripple. Conan took a half-startled step back, but Katibin was faster than the calm water showed, and caught him up by both arms, yanking him close. "Tell me," Katibin said, voice no longer light or amused. "Why is the caravan camping up in the desert, instead of down here?"

Stupid question. "Because they think it's haunted." A long moment, in which Katibin stared silently, pointedly, into Conan's eyes, and something sank deep in the pit of Conan's stomach. "... It _is_ haunted."

"By a very. nasty. djinn." Katibin's hands clenched tighter on Conan's biceps as he leaned in close, breath warm and almond-scented. "It's bad enough that you already smell of divinity and curses. Every demon for miles has been slavering at your scent for weeks -- they can all but _taste_ you." Lips rasped over Conan's own, the very faintest hint of something wet behind them. "Sweet and spicy. Like fine cinnamon."

Conan was going to kick him. Or bite him. Something. Any minute now. Any minute. Really.

"They will strip every shred of flesh from your bones." Katibin's voice, icy with conviction, pinned Conan in place. "Break them open and suck out the marrow, again and again for eons until they glut themselves, and they won't necessarily bother killing you first. You're _irresistable_ ," Katibin hissed into his mouth. "And you came. out. here. _alone_."

It was the truth. It was the _Truth_ , as encompassing and undeniable as the sun in the noon sky, too strong for any human soul or voice to hold.

And it had Conan in a diamond-hard grip, sharp teeth and hot tongue tasting him, on the very edge of restraint. Like the djinn so desperately stalking him. "... what _are_ you...?"

"I _told_ you."

An angel. Only he couldn't be. Angels were vessels of Allah's will. They wouldn't -- _couldn't_ \-- act like this, stealing and laughing and... and _licking_. Which only left... "Djinn."

Katibin jerked back as if stung.

Conan stared at him, meeting that one skillfully-human eye, not fighting the djinn's bruising grip. Irresistable. It explained so much. "Has it really been 'every demon for miles' stalking me... or just you?"

A long moment passed in utter silence. Then Katibin shoved away. "Finish your bath," he said flatly. "It's getting cold out."

Conan watched, wary and still, as Katibin walked from the water, pants soaked to near invisibility. One last glance from that single blue eye, and the djinn vanished like smoke.

 

-0-0-0

 

"Well. This can't be legal."

Conan jerked his head up, chains clanking, to come face-to-face with an all-too-familiar smirk.

The damn djinn looked like an ordinary tribesman today, plain white robes and a matching headcloth shadowing his eyes, with blue silk cords knotting the cloth in place. If you didn't notice how perfectly bleached the cotton was, and how the dust of the busy market refused to cling to the hem, you'd never think he was anything but human.

A quick glance to either side showed that didn't matter anyway. No one was paying any attention to Katibin, not even the other kids. Not even Ai seemed to have noticed him. In fact, as Conan watched warily, the slave merchant's eyes slid right past Katibin as if no one was there.

"It isn't," Conan finally hissed, not relaxing when the slaver's hand didn't reach for his switch. Apparently the man couldn't see that Conan was talking, which rather indicated that no one would notice if the djinn carried Conan off for nefarious purposes.

"Well, obviously," Katibin replied, grin widening unnervingly. "Agasa would never sell you. Even if he had the right. Isn't your cover highborn?"

Conan really wasn't in the mood for this. "Are you going to get us out of here, or just leer and plot ways to fit me in your cookpot?"

The grin turned almost pouty. "Yes to the leering and getting you out," Katibin replied. "No on the cookpot. I'm really not a djinn."

_Arrgh_. "Not this again," Conan muttered. "One, you're not an angel. Two, _I'm_ not an angel. Three, even if we were angels," how gullible did Katibin think Conan was? "we'd have all the free will of Agasa's clock and wouldn't care one whit about whether or not the other existed at all." Katibin's grin flipped back to amused-and-worse. "Four, we're both boys so _quit grinning at me like that._ "

Naturally, Katibin didn't obey. "Well," he said lightly, "one and two, you're wrong. Although," hard fingers caught Conan's chin, a knuckle between his throat and the thick iron collar there, "denial is a cute look on you." A pause. "Annoying, but cute. Three, Allah's will is so vast and complex that being a vessel of it is, to mortal eyes, nearly indistinguishable from having free will." Figured that the lunatic would have a ready argument. "He wishes to have joy in His creation, so I am."

That... was actually not very reassuring. Conan had caught a man once, someone who'd slaughtered entire families every couple of weeks for three months straight, for the sheer thrill of it. If Katibin thought he had to take joy in everything he did...

"Four," Katibin went on, "angels are genderless, you moron." He slowly slid his fingers free, knuckle shivery-warm against the soft underside of Conan's jaw. "And five... you wouldn't know a djinn if one really did try to eat you." Blue glinted as his eyes flicked to Conan's left. "Would he, young lady?"

Ai froze.

"That is a _very_ interesting curse you're wearing," Katibin purred.

" _Leave her alone_." Conan stepped in front of Ai, eyes on Katibin. He could feel Ai shivering against his back, the chains between their collars rattling almost imperceptibly. How powerful a djinn was Katibin, to frighten her so now that he'd let her see him?

One sharp brow raised. "Oh?" Katibin slid closer, his attention divided now. "Leave the little djinn alone, so close to you? I can see the curse straining to suppress her nature." His smile went sharp as razors. "Self-inflicted, isn't it?"

"Better than you," Conan snapped back. " _She's_ never lied to me."

Silence. Then, "... you knew."

Conan knew more than Katibin possibly could. Apparently Katibin could see that Ai was a djinn under the same curse as Conan, one that trapped them in the most helpless form it could manage, and even that she'd cast the curse on herself. He had probably figured out that she could barely sense more than what a person was now, and that much not strongly enough that the mix of djinn curse and human soul in Conan could tempt her appetite.

He couldn't possibly know that Ai had developed the curse in the first place, or who for.

"Well." Katibin suddenly seemed cool and distant, for all that he was still all but draped over Conan. "About your escape," he murmured. "I couldn't possibly buy you legitimately." _What, are you that much of a thief?_ Conan thought, before Katibin answered that with, "Slavery's a moral headache enough without throwing kidnapping cheats in. Perhaps a little miracle...?" He snapped his fingers.

Nothing happened. For all of two seconds, and then the crowd seemed to erupt with royal guards.

"You," the short, round man in the lead growled, sharp eyes on the slave merchant. "Show us your wares."

"Oh, gladly, good sirs," the merchant simpered, manifestly oblivious to the suspicious stares of the retinue. "I deal in only the finest Circassian and Syrian... er, were you wanting to look at boys or girls?"

Katibin stepped quietly out of the way. Conan's eyes widened when he saw the familiar face of the guard who'd been behind the djinn, but he didn't get a chance to call out before the man's gaze focused on him.

"Conan!" Takagi yelped. All the guards snapped around to look at him, and he blurted, "Sir, it's the royal astronomer's nephew!"

The merchant bolted. In the pandemonium that ensued, Katibin, unnoticed by anyone except Conan, chuckled. "Reliable as ever," he murmured, before he vanished like smoke.

When the last pale wisp faded, Ai's legs finally gave out on her. She sat with a thump in the dirt, her chain yanking Conan off-balance to fall next to her. "Ai! Ai, are you...?"

"Fine," she whispered, obviously lying, her face white as a sheet.

"No you're not. What did he do?"

"Nothing. I thought..." she swallowed, clenched her hands into fists on her lap. "I thought you said he was a djinn."

_Wait, what?_ "I... he is." He had to be. He wasn't human, so...

"No he's not." Ai took another, steadying breath. "Conan, I think... I think that was an angel."

 

-0-0-0

 

Long rows of curving script seemed to dance in the flickering light of the oil lamp. Conan blinked heavily, rubbing his eyes, but the script didn't get any easier to read. Or more helpful, for that matter. He'd reached yet another dead end. If only the Koran... but no. It had been little help earlier -- Conan wouldn't say no help, he wasn't that much of a blasphemer -- and the words wouldn't have changed since. Dozens of scholars' works, copies kept meticulously and stored in the Enderun boarding school library, didn't help much either; they were all based strictly within the holy book.

The Torah or Bible might have been of more use. Conan had some vague idea that there'd been more explanation of angels in them. Certainly the extra couple thousand years the Torah had been studied would make for more information. But Conan couldn't read any of their languages -- not the Hebrew, not the Aramaic, not the Greek or Latin, not even the Coptic. He was stuck with what few treatises had been translated.

There weren't many.

If only Ai had been sure of what she'd sensed!

Conan blew out in a huff, the lamp's small flame guttering on its wick. If, might, maybe, hopefully... none of it was going to do him any good. All he knew now was what he knew before: angels were nothing but Allah's will, implacable and unassailable... and so very, very inhuman, Katibin couldn't be one. Except Ai sensed otherwise.

On the far side of the shelves, the library door clunked open. "Hello?" someone called. "Is someone still here?" Conan looked up in time to see the boy who'd escorted him to the library just that morning, now wearing a warm red cloak over the dark yellow day robes. Blue eyes widened in surprise. "What on earth...?"

"Um." What was his name. Saguru?

"You're shivering." The older boy stepped up next to Conan, flicking one embroidered end of the cloak over him, then glanced out the window and brought out an astrolabe medallion. A few clicks with the dials, and Saguru's eyes went even wider. "It's nearly ten o'clock. You should be asleep."

"Almost was," Conan muttered. Assuming his eyes crossing had been any indication, at least.

That got him a more understanding look. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Saguru asked, peering over his shoulder before Conan realized what he was doing. "... Ah. This is... an unusual selection," he said with a careful lack of inflection.

Conan hesitated. That wasn't a 'what the hell is a child doing reading this'. That was... "Most people would say inappropriate," he offered. Saguru's expression didn't so much as flicker. "Forbidden, even," Conan dared. "Or worthless."

Now something ghosted across that blue gaze. "All knowledge is worthy," Saguru replied mildly, daringly. "Some is just more worthy than others."

"That's an 'unusual' view."

One corner of Saguru's mouth quirked upwards. "Most would say inappropriate. Forbidden, even," he echoed. His eyes brightened. "But my standing is good enough to tolerate my little eccentricities. Not so much yours, though, I wouldn't think." Conan stiffened in offense, which was just enough for Saguru to pick him up easily and settle him on one hip. "Come on, then. Let's get you home."

"You-- you--" He'd never get back in the library again if he kicked one of their students. Especially not the one whose robe embroideries proclaimed him to be on the fast track to Grand Vizier.

Saguru blew out both oil lamps and left the library, snapping his fingers at the shadowy hallway outside. "Watson." One large shadow broke loose and loomed, revealing a servant nearly seven feet tall. "Escort us."

The large man hummed a query.

"I'll accept whatever consequences there may be, but my conscience will not let me rest if I don't see the child safely home." Saguru's voice dropped. "Not with what occurred last week."

Conan stilled. The slavers. And there was just as bad on the streets at this hour, for all that the royal guards roamed all night. Okay, so Saguru had a point... but still. He didn't need to be carried like a small child!

He fumed all the way through the palace grounds and out the gates in silence, which neither Saguru nor the looming Watson seemed interested in breaking. They crossed the public square, and plunged into the moonlit gloom between two noble mansions, and then Saguru hitched Conan up a bit closer.

"Now," he murmured, nearly too quiet to hear. "What is it you wished to learn about angels?" Conan gaped in shock. "They are one of a great many fields I study."

... Heretical study was a _little eccentricity?_ In a _future courtier?_

But he was offering... something Conan needed so badly to know. If he was willing to listen to Conan's... possible blasphemy. "It's going to sound..." How to say it? "... very strange."

"The worst I will do is fail to have an answer," Saguru replied. "On my honor."

On his honor, and he didn't even know Conan. Hopefully that didn't mean Saguru took honor lightly. "... I need to know how..." No, not how. " _If_ angels can..." Steal, laugh, claim so much will that it seemed free, fixate on humans, believe delusions... touch... "Do illegal things."

"Ah. Basic comparative overview, and some theory that may be less than proper, then." They turned a corner, the lamplight catching on Saguru's smile before they went into shadow again. "You are, of course, aware that the Prophet described angels as incarnations of Allah's will." Yes, obviously. "The other Peoples of the Book have... perhaps I shall call it a differently nuanced view."

Saguru was going to do very well in court, Conan thought.

"The Jews are closest," Saguru continued, "with their angels being tasks incarnate, actions that their Lord God will complete, which exist from the moment of creation until the time that task -- destroying the sinful, saving the faithful, inspiring suitable interpretations of holy writ, what have you -- is done. The Christians, however..." He trailed off, head tipping slightly as if he was looking off into the distance. "They have one of the more interesting opinions." A pause, then Saguru shook his head. "They've done extensive studies into the matter, and have arrived at the conclusion that angels are independent beings, with no need for faith, with the option of free will. It makes for the rather unnerving prospect of fallen angels: angels who have exercised that free will, in defiance, and been spurned from all that is holy. Is that understandable?"

"Pieces of Allah's will. Actions of Allah's. Free beings with," Conan swallowed, "the ability to defy and become evil." It was heretical. It was blasphemous. It made _so much sense._

Unaware of Conan's train of thought, Saguru nodded. "In a nutshell, yes. All three possibilities have their own hypothetical implications, of course. Such as... hypothetically, if Allah were to be in the process of making a decision about something, the angel who embodies that aspect of his will may well be affected, yes? Or perhaps an angel is tasked to test someone's faith, would it be so impossible for that test to offend one's law-abiding nature?"

But what could Allah be undecided about that would result in Katibin? And wasn't Ai's spell enough to test Conan? Which only left... "Or an angel could have fallen."

"Or an angel could have fallen," Saguru agreed calmly. "It's easy enough to tell, at least. Anything holy is anathema to them. A verse or two of the Koran should work. And here we are," he finished, swinging Conan down onto the doorstep of the Royal Observatory. They'd reached it much faster than Conan could've alone.

"Thanks," Conan said as he dug out his key. Not so much for the escort, but for the information. 

Saguru inclined his head, watching Conan unlock and enter the postern door. "You are welcome. Good night."

"Night." He let the door fall shut, Saguru's eyes on him until the studded wood blocked him from sight. Relocking the door, Conan settled the crossbar into place with a heavy thunk, then leaned against it like it was the only anchor in the world.

A fallen angel. Oh Allah.

 

-0-0-0

 

Saguru was barely out of sight of the Observatory, Watson trailing silent in his wake, when a lithe figure in white slid from an alleyway and fell into step alongside him.

"Well?"

"Your assessment was entirely and almost frighteningly accurate," Saguru answered.

Katibin seemed to deflate a bit. "I was really hoping it wasn't."

"No doubt." The chance that the other had been wrong had been extremely low as it was. But to see how very little Conan remembered... Saguru barely stifled a shudder. He hadn't reacted to Saguru on even a subconscious level, it was so complete an erasure.

For that to happen to _Shinichi_ , of anyone... how could Katibin possibly stand it? "I cannot imagine--"

"Don't."

There was enough power in the word that Saguru felt it like a slap. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Very well," he murmured. "I shall refrain." And he would change the subject. "Will it bother you if I continue my investigations _in situ?_ "

That cool gaze flicked at him. "No..." Katibin replied slowly. "But don't you have order to keep?"

Heh. Saguru palmed his astrolabe medallion, showing it to the other in a flash of brass gears. "I am not required to be present to maintain my jurisdiction. In fact," he pointed out, "I am rather compelled to avoid that."

"Ah. Right." Blue eyes gleamed. "The snooping angel."

"I prefer Taftisyl, if you would be so kind, imp."

"And I prefer Kaito." He paused. "Or Azaril, if you have to be formal."

Saguru accepted the peace offering for what it was. "As you say," he replied mildly. Glancing behind him, he beckoned. "Wasat." The eunuch shifted into fire and flew to Saguru's back, coalescing into broad golden wings. Saguru turned back to Kaito. "If you have need of me, I shall be at the Enderun. Azaril." And with a final, farewell inclination of his head, Saguru vanished.

He still managed to hear the half-amused " _It's Kaito_ ," whispered into the wind.


End file.
